


To My Church Have You Been True?

by realpoutydadsurvives (collettephinz)



Series: Once More With Chris [7]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, Canonical Character Death, Las Plagas, Leon's inner monologues, M/M, OFC - Freeform, also important, also it's buddy/Leon physically but it ain't love, chream beam, end game chreon but chris isn't in this bitch, fuck idk I'm so out of practice for tagging, it's the movie damnation but I shot it with the chreon beam, my horniness for guns, references to Chris Redfield and Piers Nivans, that one's important
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:08:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23692096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/collettephinz/pseuds/realpoutydadsurvives
Summary: Stuck in the crumbling remains of the capitol of the Eastern Slav Republic, Leon S. Kennedy survives as well as he always does in these end of the world scenarios, fighting to keep himself getting too lost in his thoughts every time he looks upon the face of the rebel leader that looks far too much like Chris.- - -RE Damnation CODA with Chreon
Relationships: Leon S. Kennedy/Alexander "Sasha" Kozachenko, Leon S. Kennedy/Chris Redfield
Series: Once More With Chris [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1326299
Comments: 5
Kudos: 134





	To My Church Have You Been True?

**Author's Note:**

> (sorryyyyyy for being gone)

The first thing Leon S. Kennedy saw when waking up were beams of light filtering through dust from above. Slants of wood, a musky, moldy smell, cold, damp air clinging to his skin— a basement. He was in some kind of basement, but not a well build one, definitely not up to code. His head hurt and his mouth was dry, temples throbbing. Leon wracked his memory and quickly dredged up the last thing he remembered.

How the fuck had that man controlled a licker?

It was one thing to be stuck in this country that was ravaged by civil war to combat a BOW— it was a-fucking-nother thing to watch some random old man silently order a licker around like it was a dog to kill Leon’s informant and make the whole situation go from bad to worse. Leon grimaced inwardly and decided it was best he figured out where to go from here rather than linger on his confusion. Now if he could only—

Leon shifted. Then he froze. Then he thrashed against the zip ties keeping his hands behind the chair he was apparently stuck in. Not even a comfortable chair, either, some shit slab of wood that had been thrown together by a drunkard he’d bet. This entire city was falling apart. He wouldn’t be surprised if this chair was next. Leon yanked again, stifling a wince as the plastic dug into his skin through his gloves. He’d rather be in handcuffs than fucking zip ties. Who the fuck was Leon the prisoner of?

_”It’s the army!”_

Leon froze again, eyes shooting overhead as a searchlight passed over his lap from between the cracks of the ceiling. Heavy footsteps clamored overhead, combat boots on wood. Leon lamented the military’s inability to use an iota of stealth. He remembered BSAA recently announcing new stealth courses and seminars for all personal and wondered if any other military would be following suit, because jesus fucking christ, people were gonna die with their toddler stomping steps.

The soldiers overhead called out for any people present in the building. Leon was sure anyone answering the call would be shot on sight, rebel or not. He remained silent, knowing better than to stick his neck out in a new situation, until he saw the same old man from the parking garage, the one who fucking ordered a licker around like a puppeteer, twisted mustache and all. Leon struggled anew, hissing a gruff, “Hey—!” when suddenly a hand came from behind and enveloped his mouth.

Leon breathed sharply, going still as stone, not even flinching when a blade pressed itself to his throat. He didn’t dare swallow, the sharp edge flush against the bob of his Adam’s apple. A voice growled in his ear, low and threatening, _“Don’t say a word.”_ Fear laced through Leon despite how frequently he flirted with death. Leon didn’t know who had the knife or whose side they were on or even whose side _he_ was on. Leon had dropped into the middle of a revolution, aiming to weed out monsters, not make friends. He wasn’t with the military, wasn’t with the rebels, and wasn’t even officially with his own government anymore. Part of Leon regretted hanging up on Hannigan. The other part just really hoped that knife wouldn’t press any deeper.

Then, from the shadows, came a very, very short man with Leon’s gun.

That fuckass. That absolute shit head. Leon’s AKMSU, a gorgeous assault rifle he’d outfitted with every little perfection he could want, in the hands of some barely-trained militant leprechaun. Leon’s carefully crafted weapon, with the Zenti stock, the vertical foregrip, the magwell extension, the SureFire taclight, custom extended angled charging handle, custom selector switch and magazine release, and the Aimpoint Micro T1 red dot sight, all now in the fumbling grips of an amateur freedom fighter. Leon had never been more offended. Leon was going to fight him. Leon was going to punch the last few inches out of the man’s height.

The man with Leon’s gun also had his bulletproof vest— _which meant he had Chris’s knife_. The guy looked like he was barely four and a half feet tall. Blond hair with racer stripes shaved into the buzzcut, wearing piercings and some weird slavic style of clothing that Leon distantly felt like was an offensive stereotype. 

The tiny fuck held a finger to his mouth and shushed Leon with a shit eating grin. Then he tugged at the vest and gave an approving nod of his head, taunting. Leon wished he’d gone home and just let this little shit get eaten by zombies.

The hand around his mouth tightened and Leon sucked in a breath, letting the hand yank his head back, submitting for the sake of his life. Overhead, the lights flashed between the cracks as the unit moved through the house. The short guy turned Leon’s gun up. The soldiers declared the area clear and moved out, stomping away like a herd of elephants. “They’re gone,” rumbled that same voice, the slavic accent thick. Leon was released, that knife pulled away, and he bent forward in relief, breathing quickly. He fucking hated unknown hands on him, pinning him down. “We better stay here a while longer. They may come back.” Leon swallowed and shook himself to get his head back on straight as the person behind him stepped lightly around, into Leon’s line of sight, and—

Chris?

Leon blinked rapidly, shaking himself again, knowing this wasn’t Chris. Chris had at least fifty pounds more of sheer muscle mass and was off in the United Kingdom, working on shaping his new unit, learning his new men and women, one of whom Leon had recommended to the BSAA anonymously just last year. Part of Leon had hated himself for sending the young soldier’s portfolio Jill’s way under a pseudonym, but the other part of himself said Nivans would be in no safer hands than Chris Redfield’s. And that meant Chris wasn’t here. This man in front of him— tall, dark hair, unshaved, gruff, _striking_ — wasn’t Chris.

The little shit in Leon’s vest pulled out Leon’s LUMEN tactical flashlight and began strobe lighting Leon like a fucking asshole. Leon flinched and turned away as well as he could, wincing as the flashing lights triggered a shot of adrenaline despite himself. “Do you think our hostage will be of any use?” the shithead asked as he kept flashing Leon. Leon pulled at the ties again, wanting to deck the fucker, when a warm light suddenly flooded the room, nullifying the short man’s childish actions. Leon looked up to glare at the short man and then saw the larger man really did look so much like Chris when Chris had been young that it hurt. The two stood in front of Leon, asserting themselves as the dominant people in the room. 

Leon suddenly realized he was in what could be called a “bad situation”.

Chris’s echo jerked his chin forward. “Do you know who we are?”

Leon swallowed his apprehension. “Are you Dorothy?”

The lookalike snarled and shoved himself forward into Leon’s personal space. Leon clenched his jaw and fought down the residual panic at that, staring into this man. HIs eyes weren’t the same as Chris’s, so that was a relief. Chris had warm eyes while this man just seemed tired. “You people in the CIA call us terrorists,” he snapped as his tiny friend began to drink from Leon’s flask. That little shit better be washing his teeth and wipe the lip when he was done.

As the tiny man tucked Leon’s flask away, he butt in. “We prefer to call ourselves… pro-independence fighters.” He emphasized each word with jerks of his body and gang symbols. Leon felt like he was stuck in some awful movie and really wished he could be an idiot for a second and just kick this fucker in the balls.

“What is the CIA doing here?” the echo asked, drawing Leon’s attention from one awful thing to another for entirely different reasons. “Is it you who put the government up to this? Are there any more of you?”

Leon fought back a snort. “I’m not a CIA agent.” He glanced between them, getting the feeling that he should be more scared of the echo than anyone else— even the old man in the back who could make lickers dance on command seemed like less of a threat in the long run. “I’m just a regular American who was screwed out of his vacation, dumped on a plane, and brought to this place. _Without any breakfast._ ”

“They came for you while you were on vacation?” the short guy asked in disbelief. “Hey, Buddy. This guy’s got to be pretty high up in the CIA for them to do that!”

If only they knew.

“You’ve been watching too many movies,” Leon drawled, beginning to feel tired just watching this guy move. It was like he was made of espresso and post-punk aggression.

“Then what are you?” _Buddy_ demanded, stalking closer to Leon again, like he couldn’t let himself be more than a few feet away. Leon didn’t know if the man thought he was a threat or if he wanted Leon’s throat slit for the fun of it. Either way, someone so visibly hostile wanting to be so close didn’t bode well for Leon. He’d had a lifetime to learn that lesson. Then Buddy went to his friend, and grabbed Leon’s AKMSU, holding it in the air as he asked, “Is it common for people in America to be packing one of these while on vacation?”

Leon pulled on a smirk. “Sure,” he simpered. “We’ve been doing it since the country was first founded.”

“Wow!” cried out the leprechaun, audibly overjoyed to hear this. “America’s the bomb, yo!” Dear god, it was like Leon was back in the worst timeline— the nineties. 

Buddy gave the leprechaun the sourest look Leon had ever seen and shoved him away by the gun. “Whatever,” he bit out, frustrated. “Even if you’re not CIA…” Buddy suddenly moved back in again, grabbing Leon by the shoulders. Leon flinched and turned his head up as Buddy got close, glaring into him. “There is not doubt that you must be pretty special for America to send you here. You were able to take on that _thing_ , after all.”

The thing? The _licker?_ Leon leaned in as well, forgetting his instincts for fear of what these assholes were playing with. “if you don’t stop messing around with that _thing_ , you’re gonna get us all _killed._ ”

Buddy glared into him. “There is no doubt about the fact that you are our enemy.”

The old man in the corner suddenly began to hack up a lung, and Buddy shoved Leon away, going to the old man’s side. The puppeteer was wheezing, sick as a dog, and Leon didn’t know with what, even though every fiber of his being was telling him that man was infected. What bothered Leon the most was the fact that Hannigan hadn’t known what BOW was being used here in the Eastern Slav Republic. The licker had Leon thinking T-virus, but the T-Virus didn’t normally cause respiratory issues when infecting someone, and a licker was a one-out-of-ten from a zombie. This place wasn’t overrun enough to produce the odds to get a licker. And more than anything, Leon wondered what the relationship between Buddy and the old man was as he tried to figure out what was going to happen. Leon was, apparently, not going to get a helping hand. He likely wasn’t going to get out of this chair. And he was definitely not getting out of here alive without his guns. 

As Buddy tried to soothe the coughing fit, the leprechaun went back to drinking Leon’s liquor. Leon grimaced as he watched those lips touch the metal. The flask had been a gift from Adam Benford, all wrapped up in a red bow to celebrate Benford’s election into the Presidential office. Next to Rot and Chris’s knife, that flask _meant_ something to Leon. Now it was covered in leprechaun spit. Damn this place to hell.

Leon looked to the old man again. He was gray, now, literally gray. Warning bells were going off in Leon’s head. He knew what this looked like. He knew what this was, he just didn’t want to think it in case that would keep it from coming true. But if the man was infected—

Leon looked to the leprechaun. “Hey you.”

Said leprechaun looked to him with his upper lip curled in disdain. “My name is not ‘hey you.’” He shoved a thumb at himself. “I’m JD!” JD turned away with a smug grin and made to drink more of Leon’s liquor. “Although— that’s not my real name.”

Great. Leon didn’t care. “The old man’s not looking too good.”

JD stared in the corner for a second, then looked back to Leon with a shrug. “He always looks like that.” The bastard took another gulp. Fuck him. 

“Let’s hope you’re right,” is all he said, thinking of the many ways one could sever a human tongue.

The old man suddenly burst with a braying cough, bending over with the force of it. Leon watched the man, cataloguing symptoms, feeling his heart rate pick up as more and more observations lined up with previous experience. God, he _really_ didn’t want to see that particular shitshow of a BOW again. 

“Anyways!” Leon jumped as JD suddenly grabbed Leon’s shoulder, shaking him for attention. The hand on his leather jacket had Leon inwardly cringing. What was with these rebel men being so fucking touchy? Leon didn’t know much about slavic culture, but he was pretty sure there was a universal joke about slavs have six feet of distance between everyone at all times. Why were they touching him so much? He hated it. JD grinned excitedly down at him. “What are you really doing in this country?”

Frustrated welled over in Leon as he snapped. “Hey, a different question for a change!”

JD groaned in his own annoyance. “What I mean is being in America is a hell of a lot more fun than being here, right?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

JD huffed. “The hamburgers, man.” Oh my god. “The fried chicken! The food in your country’s fantastic, I could eat it every day!”

Leon chose his next words carefully. “Thanks for the valuable insight.”

JD grabbed Leon’s shoulders again, and Leon was going to get nauseous with all this up and down adrenaline from the touching. “And the Hollywood movies!” JD exclaimed like a little kid. “I love those things! I have fifty DVDs— none of them are pirated!”

Leon was actually slightly impressed with that one. He hadn’t owned a DVD since 2008. “I thought you guys hated America.”

“Sure, we hate it,” JD admired with another shrug. Then he pulled at the shoulders of Leon’s vest. “But things _made_ in America— now that’s different.”

Leon’s phone suddenly rang in his vest. JD stopped mid-swig from the flask and searched around for the SAT phone, expression befuddled. Leon prayed JD didn’t pick up. He didn’t want Hannigan seeing someone else answering the line and sending anyone after Leon. God forbid she reach out to Benford, who would reach out to BSAA, because the DSO was still in the works with STRATCOM chipped away. God knew who would get the message from BSAA. God knew who would come rescue Leon. 

JD found the SAT phone and stared into the blue light. “Whatever you do,” Leon warned, praying JD was dumb enough to think Leon was trying to trick him. “Don’t push that button.”

JD narrowed his eyes at Leon and wagged his finger. “I’m not falling for that,” he said. “There’s no way I’m allowing them to trace the call!” He threw the phone on the floor and stomped his heel into it twice, silencing the ring and shattering the screen. JD looked up at Leon with a huge grin like he was looking for approval. Leon— in disbelief that he’d actually gotten out of Hannigan screaming at him— gave a little smirk back of his own back, nodding.

A door to Leon’s left— one he’d foolishly failed to notice— opened and Buddy came through with an AKMS slung from his shoulder. Leon couldn’t even pinpoint when the man had left. Leon also suddenly remembered he’d been knocked out by a fucking head injury from the explosion. Fuck, was he concussed?

“How are things out there?” JD asked as Leon inwardly panicked over what else he could have missed. 

“Looks like they have the old part of the city completely surrounded,” Buddy responded darkly. “We better wait and see how things pan out.” Buddy turned away as the old man fell into another hacking fit. He was steadily losing color he’d never really had in the first place, and Leon was nervous. So was JD, who scrambled to Buddy’s side and had a whispered conversation with the man, something about Ataman and the “American Friend”. The two rebels looked back at Leon for a moment, and he kept his jaw set, unsure of what they were talking about, but knowing he couldn’t afford to look weak in front of them, possible head injury or not.

“You don’t—“

Leon looked to the old man, who was trying to stand amidst the coughing fit. “You don’t have to worry about me… We can’t stay here forever.” 

Upon standing, the old man let out another violent series of coughs and— clutched at his chest, doubling over. Leon’s feet reflexively kicked at the ground, wanting away from the man, seeing sign upon sign telling Leon his time was near. The guy was gonna turn and Leon was still tied to a fucking chair. Did these rebels even know how to put down an infected? Was Leon going to witness their slaughter and then be torn apart himself? Fuck, fuck, was he really going to die in this shitty basement with a leprechaun and an echo of Chris that had the wrong eyes?

Fists banged on the wood of the door beside them, and the situation went from bad to worse as the military demanded entrance. “Open up!” a soldier shouted, slamming his fist on the door over and over as the old man coughed up his lung. “Stop resisting!”

Leon saw JD run to the door, aiming the sights of Leon’s AKMSU where the soldiers would burst through. A new kind of panic shot through Leon, knowing the soldiers were going to blow that door in and take JD with it. He looked to Buddy, hoping the man realized he was about to kill his friend, but saw the young frenzy in the man’s eyes. He didn’t know. 

Leon dug his boots in and launched himself out of the chair, slamming into JD with his entire left side as the door was thrown inwards and sent flying across the room, narrowly missing JD and Leon both. As Leon hit the dirt and trigger-happy soldiers filled the room he felt a small sense of satisfaction in knowing he’s saved the stupid man that was becoming more like a kid in his eyes. 

_“Don’t resist!”_

_“Don’t move, don’t move!”_

_“Hands in the air!”_

“Don’t shoot.” Buddy’s voice was hoarse as he held his hands in the air, JD doing the same as he and Leon stood. 

“Drop your gun!” a soldier spat in JD’s face, the power surge of a soldier feeling like they were winning now poison in the air. Leon took a step back and away from the madness, praying he could be lost in the chaos. Captured didn’t mean killed, and if JD and Buddy were detained, then they’d be safe from the BOWs, Leon was sure of it. It almost felt hopeful until, over the shouting, Leon heard the hacking cough of the old man. He peered through the throng of soldiers and saw the old man stumbling on his feet. Through the coughing was raspy, familiar breath, Castilian bouncing around in Leon’s skull. The old man’s glasses clattered to the floor and all the soldiers pointed their muzzles at the hunched figure.

“Keep away from him!” Leon shouted, almost wild. The soldiers didn’t listen— they didn’t understand that they were about to die. He took a step forward, desperate to be understood as the old man lifted his head and Leon flinched beneath the stare of red eyes. No one was listening to him. _“He’s turned!”_

As most everyone staggered beneath those red eyes, Buddy acted, grabbed the AKS-74 of the soldier closest to him and firing blindly at the soldiers, downing nearly everyone in the room. The old man-turned-infected stumbled as JD and Buddy both fell into a fight for the lives, Leon realizing he had to do same. Being captured now would only label him as a rebel. He dove into the fray, head butting one soldier and then swinging his leg up for a roundhouse kick to down another. Out of the corner of his eye, Leon saw JD loop the old man’s arm over his shoulder and make for the door, limping to safety. In the moment of a blink, JD suddenly cried out and went down hard. Worry overtook Leon for a split second. Then he saw Buddy step forward with the AKS, facing the rest of the soldiers with bloodlust— and Leon.

Leon dove out of the way as Buddy’s cover fire tore through the last of the soldiers, Leon barely avoiding being turned into Swiss cheese. From behind a post, Leon watched Buddy savagely slam one last soldier with the butt of the automatic before dropping to his knees and glancing JD over. He saw the same thing Leon did— no blood. Leon’s vest had taken the shot. Leon’s stolen vest had saved the leprechauns fucking life.

Something like relief swept through him and left Leon confused.

“Downstairs!”

Leon and Buddy both looked to the ceiling. Footsteps clambered above and Leon looked to the rebels, knowing his only way out was the same way they were going, but Leon wouldn’t be a welcome exiting party. He watched Buddy get the old man to his knees just as bullets rained down from above, tearing through the wood. JD eventually got his ass into gear too, stumbling after Buddy and the old man, escaping through the open door and into— wherever. The overhead light was suddenly blown out, leaving Leon in total darkness. He shut his eyes for a moment, breathed through the dust and the blood and the cacophony of muzzle fire, trying to focus, trying to figure out where to go from here because—

Plaga.

The fucking Plaga.

_Without Chris._

On the worst nights, alone in his apartment, comforted only by the cold glow of his laptop as he buried himself in work, Leon would feel the ghost of the plague stirring in his chest, in his spine. He would feel the tendrils pushing into his veins. He would hear Saddler’s whisper in his mind. When Leon was alone and at his lowest, he would feel the Plaga and the cold and hands around his neck. And normally Leon would call Adam Benford. 

He’d never told Adam much, nothing too specific, but over the years, working together towards a brighter future, Leon had told Adam enough. The bare minimum, that Leon wasn’t close with his parents for abusive reasons, that he’d had a bad ex, that he was in love with a man he could never be with. Adam didn’t know a lot but he knew enough to put himself at the top of the list of people who knew Leon, really _knew_ him. It said a lot about how little Leon opened up, but he couldn’t help it. Leon felt lucky he had even managed to get out that he wasn’t okay with cold, closed spaces without falling into a panic attack. Adam— Adam was good for Leon since he couldn’t have Chris. When Leon felt clammy and too close to fraying away at the edges, he’d call Adam.

JD had curb stomped his fucking phone.

How had the Plaga gotten here and why? As far as Leon knew, Ada Wong had had the last of the Plaga, since whatever Wesker had fucked around with back in Kijuju— and hadn’t that been a fucking heart attack and a half, Leon had been on an op and told twenty-four hours too late that there had been a Plaga incident in Africa and Chris had been involved, what a fucking load of bullshit— had likely been destroyed and exterminated from the infected population. And what did the Plaga have to do with lickers? In some ways, it made sense. The Plaga was unique in how it allowed a dominant infected control submissive infected, like Salazar and Saddler ordering armies of infected villagers. Had they somehow bred Plaga into the T-Virus to interweave the two very different BOWs and somehow come up with something functioning? But the T-Virus was a _virus,_ and the Plaga a parasite. It just didn’t add up.

Jesus, Leon wasn’t in the time or place to be figuring this out. He turned over onto his knees, slid carefully to his feet, held his breath, and bolted across the room as the bullets continued to rain down. Leon dove through the doorway and rolled cleanly across the ground, glancing around and seeing he was in some sort of manmade tunnel. He heard voices just ahead, Buddy and JD and the hacking cough of the old man. 

Leon clenched his jaw, tugged at his zip ties in one last hopeless attempt to free himself, and kept moving. One way or another, he was going to wipe these viruses and parasites alike from the face of the earth. This was just the next apocalypse for him to stop.

. . .

As Leon jogged for the parking garage he’d started this whole mess in to try and find the wayward rebellion leader, surveying the damage that had been done in the stretch of only a few hours and dodging patrols declaring evacuation, Leon decided he really actually liked JD. 

It was strange for Leon to “work with” someone who didn’t know what the fuck was going on with BOWs. Leon was sure that years of civil war had kept these freedom fighters from keeping up with the daily news, and word on BOWs was scarce, few trustworthy reports ever making it into the public eye. Leon was sure the last genuine report had been on Harvardville Airport. What had gone down in Africa with the BSAA and Las Plagas part two wasn’t going to be spread to the masses. The powers that be needed to keep global panic to a minimum. 

Still— Leon had to give JD some credit. Most civilians would take ages to catch up with what Leon was accustomed to facing. JD was handling the Plaga very well, all things considered, and part of Leon couldn’t forget how JD had been more than willing to run to the aid of the soldier that had been part of his suppression for the past several years. Leon didn’t know a lot of civilians that had a truly omnibenevolent instinct like JD had shown. He was a good guy. He was making it a lot easier for Leon to face the Plaga again. JD was helping Leon ignore the phantom squirm of the parasite in his spine. There had been that moment in the church where JD had accused Leon of turning people, like Leon was actually involved in the spread of the parasite, but Leon was willing to let that go, deciding JD could plead he was under duress and not thinking clearly. Just because Leon knew how to kill these things didn’t mean he knew how it started. Leon never understood the people that brought about these plagues. He never knew how it started. Not really. Not in a way that mattered.

As Leon had moved through the ravaged city, he’d found himself thinking over Buddy and JD. Buddy didn’t seem like the kind of guy to have plans for the future anymore. Whatever plans he must have had were long gone with the death of his fiancée, Irina. But JD—

Leon wondered what JD would do from here. If he’d stay in the war torn country or if he’d move on. Maybe Leon could convince a couple people to let JD into the country, even for just a visit. Leon had quite a few favors that people owed him and having the President of the United States as a friend was a really good vouch for character. Leon wondered what places JD wanted to check out first. Maybe New York for the food, or LA for the Hollywood scene, or even Arizona for the alien landscapes. Maybe he liked camping. Leon kind of wanted to find out. It would— 

It would be nice to have a friend.

That being said, Leon really hadn’t appreciated being shoved into a wall and having Chris’s knife pressed against his spine by a guy a foot shorter than him. It had been satisfying to disarm the man so smoothly. JD really was just starting to reveal himself to Leon as a kid fighting in a war because it was the only choice he seemed to have.

And while the fuckass was a firecracker and a disaster waiting to happen, the man had come through for Leon in a way he hadn’t expected, even throwing Leon a few bones like he thought Leon should sympathize for Buddy. 

Or, Sasha.

Sasha. The man who’d lost it all. 

And the man who had clocked Leon across the jaw, possibly aggravating the head injury Leon wasn’t entirely sure he had, but still—

Leon couldn’t imagine it. Going to work with the love of his life and then hearing the whistle of bombs dropping from the sky, sifting through ash and rubble and finding corpses bearing the faces of the children he’d nurtured and taught, finding his lover in the midst of the chaos. Leon couldn’t even begin to fathom what that could do to a man, but he had a lot of trauma himself. He knew what loss could do to a person.

Leon checked the corners of the slope into the parking garage and told himself he didn’t sympathize with Sasha— he _empathized._ Maybe to a different extent, but Leon was so intimately familiar with loss at this point that it wasn’t even funny. To be fair, it never had been funny in the first place. Leon had seen many men and women die in this walk of life. He’d seen people get torn apart, eaten alive, die slowly, die brutally. He’d seen the corpses of children stumble out of schools, elderly undead shambling through the lonely halls of hospitals, lone survivors failing to survive despite all their best efforts. 

Leon knew death like an old friend. Throughout the years, he’d developed a very specific and almost cold mentality. If he knew anyone that got turned, they weren’t the same person anymore. The disconnect that happened between life and zombification was black and white. It didn’t matter who it was or how long he’d known them, whether it was a bullet or BOWs. Marvin Branagh. Luis Suarez. Leon had taught himself that the dead were dead. No sense pitying that which could no longer feel. Put it down quickly before he became one of them. It was the only way Leon had survived.

That being said— Leon wasn’t good when losing people that were still kicking. Chris, god, _Chris._ Chris Redfield was the most applicable example. Then Sherry Birkin, Leon’s daughter, though not through law or blood. Leon was _still_ reeling from the loss of Sherry, finding himself passing shop windows even here in the Eastern Slav Republic and seeing some random trinket, telling himself he should get that for Sherry for the next time they saw each other. 

There was never going to be a next time. Not for Leon and Sherry. Hopefully not for Chris, either. In his line of work, Leon only ever saw Chris when the world was ending. While a selfish part of Leon often yearned for an apocalypse scenario to return Chris to his arms, Leon understood that his desires and his needs were not an option when facing such a bleak consequence. Leon and Chris had both agreed that the safety of the world came before them. 

And there were many more on Leon’s list than just Sherry and Chris, like Claire, for one, an unending beacon of altruism and optimism. Claire Redfield could always dredge up a smile even in the worst of times. Leon had always admired her for that. Angela Miller, a strong woman who didn’t let herself stay down despite the weight that had been shoved onto her shoulders. David Trapp, John Andrews, Rebecca Chambers, people Leon had foolishly wanted to know and grow with. Even Jill Valentine, recently returned from the dead and Chris’s partner once more. The entirety of the BSAA, really. The idea of belonging to a family. All of it— lost.

Which brought Leon to his unhealthier side of abandonment— being left by people he was better off never knowing. Leon’s parents. Jack Krauser. Monsters that Leon should leave in the shadows, yet had caused him just as much pain in leaving him behind than staying. Every time his mother had left him locked in that cooler, Leon had prayed to a deaf god for her to come back. Every time his father had left Leon bleeding on his bathroom floor, Leon had called out for the brute, knowing he wasn’t strong enough on his own to tend to his own wounds. And when Krauser had left him on that hotel bed—

Shit.

_”Stop getting lost in your head, Officer Kennedy.”_

Leon tore himself from his self-destructive memories to bend down at the briefcase his light fell on. The case was metal and likely some level of bulletproof, laying open on the ground with cutout foam lining both sides. Whatever had been in here looked medical and whatever had been in here was gone. Leon could only surmise he’d come too late. Sasha— the fucking idiot— had injected himself with whatever the fuck was allowing control of the lickers. God dammit. This situation had officially gone from bad to FUBAR.

Leon stood, wondering just what the hell he was supposed to do next. He could get back to the church and tell JD the bad news, but that wouldn’t actually get Leon anywhere. He could leave the central market and seek out these elders that had so graciously given these poor rebels a double edged sword, but Leon would be useless from there without any government backing him up. He could wander the city and put down any infected he found, but he didn’t have that kind of firepower, nor the storage for that many bullets. He could…

… What the fuck could he do?

“Looking for someone?”

Lights flared behind him as a female voice asked the innocent question, Leon whirling around, AKMSU up and ready to fire. A firm arm of some sort shot forward, pushing his muzzle aside, and a figure stepped into Leon, ready to—

Ada?

It was Ada.

_Shit._

Didn’t matter.

Leon recollected himself and dropped back, swinging his leg through the air in a high roundhouse, aiming to incapacitate rather than kill now that he knew who he was fighting. Ada flung herself back, gaining distance with a few showy cartwheels that were more impractical than effective when wearing stilettos and a pencil skirt. She landed on one knee, crouched, and brought her own gun up, aimed at Leon.

Leon lowered his weapon. “Ada.”

Ada Wong got slowly to her feet, watching Leon with a glint in her eyes. She was dressed oddly in that tight skirt and a suit jacket that didn’t really match with a lace choker tight around her neck. Her hair was done much the same as last Leon had seen her and the gun in her hand was _still pointed at him._ Leon had expected her to lower it. Whose side was she on this time? Were they supposed to be enemies again? Ada cocked her gun and Leon brought his own back up again even though it pained him to do so. Ada smiled at him and said, “It’s been a long time, Leon.”

“What are you doing here?” Leon asked warily. Ada Wong had gotten away with the Plaga back in Spain. Wesker had used the Plaga in Africa. Now Ada Wong was in the Eastern Slav Republic with the Plaga. It was seeming like Ada was the parasite’s parasite.

“I was about to ask you the same thing,” she drawled as she began to circle him, Leon mirroring her movements so she couldn’t catch him off guard. “I thought the United States pulled out of this place.”

Leon grimaced. “Did you release the Plaga?”

“Don’t make me laugh. I’m not interested in defective products.” Jesus, something had changed along the way. Ada had never been very warm with him but she wasn’t normally this cold either. And whittling the Plaga down to a simple product? She’d gotten more cutthroat over the years— something Leon had once thought was impossible. “I’m just here to lend _them_ a hand.”

“Them?” Leon echoed.

Ada hummed. “Although… It seems as if my help wasn’t needed.”

“What are you doing here?” Leon asked again, not liking how she was talking. Ada had something to do with the release of the Plaga and it made him sick. Leon knew what Ada Wong did, what her job was, the people she fraternized with. He knew exactly how much of the bodycount could be put on her hands. He always hated himself for not puling the trigger when he saw her and ending this twisted game she played with people’s lives. But even now, hearing her vague confession fall from her own lips, Leon knew he wouldn’t be able to do it. 

Ada smirked at him. “If they attack the capital it’ll make my job a lot easier. That’s all.” Ada paused, then stopped in her slow rounding of Leon like he was her prey. “By the way,” she simpered. “When are we going to…” She shrugged, an impish smile playing at her glossy lips. “Carry on where we left off that night?”

And this was why Leon couldn’t kill her.

He remembered the last time they’d met, a random chance brush of the shoulders that had led to coffee and catching up and actually being human with one another in the anonymity of Oslo, Norway at twilight. Leon had been accompanying Benford one on of his first world tours as the newly-elected President of the United States and Ada had been doing god knew what. Leon had been enjoying a few hours off in the heart of downtown and had literally run into Ada while the woman had had her nose buried in her phone. They’d stared at each other like a pair of fish before Leon had attempted small talk and Ada had talked around her business before they’d finally ended up at Kaffebrenneriet, sipping at espresso and just _talking._ Benford had rang him an hour later and Leon had been forced to leave abruptly, his second cup of coffee unfinished.

It was only one of the few good memories Leon kept close for whenever things seemed too bleak to go on.

“Any time but now,” he said, unable to keep back the hint of a smile at the memory.

“Too bad,” Ada sighed. “I really was curious to hear what happened to that Army brat you’ve been stalking.”

“It’s not stalking, I’m just keeping an eye on him,” Leon defended. “You think he’s a good kid too.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re not a stalker,” Ada hummed, her tone almost teasing. “Poor Nivans doesn’t even know he has such a handsome shadow. What’s he gonna do when Chris starts catching your scent?”

Leon raised a brow. “Funny— I never told you Nivans made it into the BSAA.”

Ada pursed her lips, knowing she’d been caught. “You’re angry at me, aren’t you?” She smirked, regaining her footing, always needing to be a step ahead of Leon. “Suits you.”

She aimed her gun up up at the ceiling— revealed it to be that stupid fucking grappling hook she loved so much— and shot into the sky. As she was lifted into the air, she called out, “Quick word of warning: this town will be purged soon!”

Leon ran forward, trying to get a final glimpse and see where she was running off to, scowling when she landed atop the roof and leaped out of sight. He glowered up at where she had last been and huffed, shaking his head. “Women.”

Off in the distance, the church bells rang. It was not on the hour.

Purged. Fucking _purged._

Just like Raccoon City.

Leon needed to get back to the church. He had to warn the rebels left behind. He had to catch Sasha before the man got himself killed. Even though Leon was sure that some part of Sasha wanted to die and be reunited with Irina, he was also sure JD didn’t want to lose anymore friends.

As Leon darted through the empty streets, heart pounding as he tried to count down a time bomb he didn’t know the limit on, he tried to figure out what the hell was going on in this place. Ada Wong was not affordable by any means. He knew for a fact that Ada wasn’t working for the rebels, likely wasn’t even with them at all. What only made sense was the government being involved because that was the only feasible person to pay for someone as pricey as Ada Wong, but even that didn’t add up. Why would Ada work with a government that obviously didn’t need her help? Ada didn’t release this shit, she sourced it and sold it. She didn’t do anything but get the BOWs into the hands of people that wanted to use them. She was obviously recovering for someone. Maybe it was the Eastern Slav Republic’s government? Maybe they were paying Ada to get the BOWs out of the hands of the rebels. But then—

Why would Ada want the rebels to attack the capital?

Leon skidded to a halt as he rounded a corner, his thoughts wiped clean by the sight of a fumbling hoard gathered around the gates of the church, and even worse, _inside_ the gates. Leon stared at the collection of infected for one helpless second, gathering his thoughts. The lights were on inside but he didn’t know if anyone else was alive. He didn’t have the firepower to take down this many, nor did he know who was calling the shots and organizing the infected— or if anyone was organizing them at all. Leon didn’t know which was scarier. 

Gunshots rang out from the church, sharp and heart-stopping. Now Leon _had_ to get into the church. If someone was still alive in there, Leon wouldn’t abandon them.

He scanned the building, looking for a way in. Nothing presented itself immediately so he scaled one of the closer walls, lifting himself up for a better vantage point. A grim expression overcame his face when he looked down into the courtyard and saw the infected stumbling about, aimless. He was beginning to suspect there really wasn’t anyone in charge of the Plaga infested citizens. 

Leon looked around from up high and saw a few roofs of nearby buildings that were close enough to the main body of the church, a roof ladder on the other side a large gap from the sheds. His only feasible way in.

“Great,” he grumbled, cutting his chin to the side. “I get to play Santa Claus.”

Leon slinked across the brick fence, careful not to alert the infected below. He reached the arched roofs of the houses and took a few steps back, psyching himself up for a leap that was at least ten feet. He hopped from foot to foot, careful not to slide down the ceramic tiling of the roof, and then took a running start, sprinting for the ledge and flinging himself across the gap. Leon hit the ladder hard, barely managing to grab hold of the bars, only three rungs up and being way too loud.

Down below, the infected shambled their way to him. Some carried pipes and crowbars, rudimentary weapons that could easily snap Leon’s tibia or fibula if he wasn’t fast enough. He struggled for footing on the stone wall of the church, fighting down panic as the undead gathered beneath him, moaning and hissing, speaking in that garbled, terrifying growl of the Plaga infected. Leon kicked at the wall, the toes of his boots scraping uselessly. He was getting desperate as his upper body strength alone was proving to not be enough to get him up with how far his feet were from the rungs. Hands grabbed at his ankles, and he kicked them off with a curse, then found a step in the form of a human head. Leon felt a sick sense of satisfaction as he pushed off the infected’s skull and lifted himself up to get his feet on the rungs. 

Satisfaction was short lived. As Leon climbed only a few feet, sharp shots rang from inside the church. A handgun. Leon’s Springfield Armory TRP Operator, the replacement he’d taken up for Rot after Spain because he’d realized the chance of losing Chris’s gun was too much for him to handle in the field. That shot was Leon’s gun.

JD.

Leon steeled his jaw and hoisted himself up as quickly as he could, reaching the side roofing of the church and slipping in through an open stained glass window. 

The church was dimly lit and worse off than Leon had left it. As Leon surveyed the area from above for any survivors, the number of bodies he saw on the ground threw him off. As far as he knew, none of the infected had managed to break through in a noticeable way. Whatever had happened here came from an infected person somehow slipping inside unnoticed. Leon also didn’t see—

JD threw a body off his smaller frame and coughed, grabbing at his chest through the bullet proof vest. 

Leon ran for the ledge of the overlooking level, calling out to JD urgently. “Are you alright?!”

JD continued to wheeze, waving a hand in the air. “Yeah— just let my guard down for a moment.”

Leon looked between JD and the stairway down, then ran for it, needing to get close to ensure the other man really was okay. He felt something like relief and squashed it down, knowing they weren’t out of the woods yet. He jogged up to JD, feeling more of that poisonous relief as the man stood on his own. “Where’s Buddy?”

JD’s question had Leon grimacing. “He’d already left by the time I got there.”

“Damn!”

JD’s outburst almost had Leon flinching, and not for the risk of raising their voices. Shouting had always made something small inside Leon cower. He set his jaw. “We have to leave now. The military’s gonna burn the whole area. And everything in it.”

JD stared at him in disbelief. “What?!”

Jesus, lower the fucking voice. “We’re out of time,” Leon said with audible regret. JD paused for a second, eyes darting about in visible thought before he broke away from Leon, moving to collect something that must be important. Leon watched him go. Then felt icy cold horror run down his spine as JD suddenly doubled over like he was gagging.

Leon—

Leon knew the symptoms of the Plaga better than anyone.

He approached steadily, watching JD, already making the switch from friend to infected in his mind. “What’s wrong.”

JD paused again, facing away from Leon. “Nothing,” he said. Leon didn’t believe him. “There’s just something I have to do.”

JD turned to face him. He looked like he was going to cry. Leon watched as the other man undid the velcro straps of the bulletproof vest, lifting the heavy equipment over his head and then marching up to Leon, holding it out to him. Leon eyed it, knowing what this was, what this meant, and selfishly denying it because he was used to losing people, but he was also so fucking tired of it. “Won’t you be needing that?” JD failed to lower the offering. Leon ground his teeth to keep from screaming as he took the vest. At least he had Chris’s knife back.

JD then held out his fist.

Leon took a second to understand what he was seeing. 

For a moment, he remembered Sherry. After Simmons had first taken her in and Leon was adjusting to his meager visitation hours, he’d caught her coming back from her first week at her new school and had sprinted for him from the bus, barreling into his arms like it was where she’d belonged. Sherry had looked up at him with a smile that could melt the hardest of hearts. Then she’d pulled away and taken his hand, spending the next five minutes teaching him every step in the super secret handshake she’d learned that day.

JD held out his fist.

Up, down, fist bump, explosion.

JD gave Leon the biggest smile Leon had seen on the man and finger-gunned at Leon, walking away. “You my man!” Leon watched the man turn to leave the church, knowing he would probably never see JD again as a human.

Suddenly, the side entrance door to the church swung open in front of JD, Chris— no, Sasha standing tall at the opening with a steady expression.

“Buddy,” JD gasped in disbelief. He paused, looking his friend up and down. “Cool. You’re still human!” Then JD doubled over into another chest-aching coughing fit. Sasha stared at his friend in horror, moving towards him as if he could help.

“JD,” Sasha said, voice low with anxiety. He looked past his friend and saw Leon. Instantly Sasha’s AKMS was up and aimed at Leon. “You!” he snarled, eyes wild as his friend’s lungs spasmed. “What have you done?!”

“No!” JD shouted, throwing a weak arm out and getting between JD and Leon. “He’s not our enemy! He’s—” JD cut off again to succumb to horrible hacks, his throat probably raw at this point. Leon’s own body twisted with empathy, knowing the pain JD was experiencing all too well. “I’m fine!” JD insisted even though it was obvious he wasn’t. “Just go!”

Sasha didn’t listen, running up to JD and looking him over like he still thought he could do something. JD’s fit died as he rasped, “I don’t want to cause anymore trouble.” There was another cough. Leon wondered if JD was seeing blood in his palm like Leon had. “It’s time— to say goodbye.”

More agonized sounds came from JD, but they were no longer human. Even from behind, Leon could see the gray skin and the dark veins beneath the surface. He watched JD’s body twitch and his stance change, losing what made him human. Leon’s heart was in his throat as he saw Sasha’s face contort into something agonized, witnessing the slow death of the last person he loved on earth. 

Then JD launched himself at Sasha and Leon made the switch, whipping out his Springfield and firing twice into the infected’s spine, the body hitting the ground hard.

“JD!” Sasha called out helplessly, like his friend was still in there. Leon strode forward, sights on the body, seeing it twitch on the floor and readying himself for another shot. “Wait!” Sasha shouted, _begged,_ , putting his hand out just as JD had done moments before. Leon glanced to the man, knew it was stupid and dangerous and _useless_ , but waited nonetheless. Closure was something people so rarely got in this line of life. Maybe Sasha could have that. 

Sasha then rounded JD’s body, putting himself between JD and Leon. Leon wasn’t sure who Sasha was protecting, especially when he saw Sasha was aiming his sights at JD now. Still—

Leon felt for the man. Leon was one of the lucky ones, one of the few who had never been forced to put down someone he genuinely cared for, but now Chris and Sasha had another thing in common.

In Raccoon City, in the first ever exposure to BOWs, Chris had torn through a town and a precinct he had once called his home. He’d put down friend after friend after friend. Chris had destroyed himself the entire night just to keep Leon alive. Now Sasha was being forced to do the same, and Leon—

Leon had once thought Chris and Sasha had different eyes. He was wrong. The agony in Sasha’s eyes was the same as had been in Chris’s back then— and to this day.

JD slowly got up on all fours, looking to Sasha with red eyes and blood for tears. “You know,” he rasped. “I didn’t really care about independence. All I wanted was to have fun with you and my friends.”

Then JD’s expression twisted and his head popped like a demented balloon, tentacles writhing out of what had once been his neck, whipping about and threatening to slice the skin from bones. As the infected stood and closed in on Sasha, who was staring in wretched horror, his weapon falling back to his side, Leon knew he could do Sasha this one kindness.

He lifted his Springfield and aimed for the head. “I was looking forward to showing you America.”

Three more bullets and the infected was gone, a pile of ruined flesh and clothes. 

Sasha stumbled back, collapsing against the wall, staring at the corpse. He was breathing shallowly in shock. The man could barely stand and he couldn’t pull his eyes away. Leon wasn’t sure what to say so he went with the easiest thing— an attempt to comfort. An attempt to show Sasha that he wasn’t alone. “Trust me— I’ve seen this happen every time.” Leon looked to Sasha to see if his words had gotten through and saw the man was still too broken to move. 

Leon decided to do the next best thing. It was easy to find a tarp in this place, an old banner for what had likely been a church fundraiser for the community. He laid it over JD’s body, hoping that whatever heaven the man believed in was in reach. Then Leon went to Sasha’s side and gently took the man’s arm, pulling him to a nearby bend for him to collapse into. Sasha didn’t fight him, didn’t pull away from the touch. He was warm and alive and Leon’s heart treacherously clenched. He had to distract himself. He had to talk.

“When you’re dealing with BOWs there’s no difference between friend and enemy,” he said softly as he surreptitiously checked Sasha over for wounds while cleaning Sasha’s dead friend’s blood from Sasha’s pale face. "It takes everything from you. The cause you're fighting for, the respect you have for others.”

Sasha lifted his head and looking into Leon like he was really seeing him for the first time. Leon’s breath caught in his throat as he realized how horribly young the other man looked. “We have to keep this from ever happening again.” Leon went down on his knees in front of Sasha, watching him carefully. “Give me the Plaga.”

Sasha didn’t break his empty stare into Leon and it was quickly becoming too much. He could see the war inside the man, the fight inside breaking against the fight in the real world. Whatever world Sasha had hoped to rebuild after this rebellion was gone. Sasha only wanted to tear down the figureheads that had destroyed the perfect world he’d already had. 

It felt horrible. Seeing this man shatter from the inside out in a way that was so familiar to Leon that it was instinct. Over and over, Leon had witnessed the fall of the strongest warriors. But so few had come back with a vengeance, had resolved to stand and keep going. So few were like Sasha. So few were like _Chris._

“You can’t keep doing this,” Leon whispered. “You won’t find peace. All you’ll do is add to the bodycount.”

Sasha swallowed hard enough for Leon to see. “So what.”

“You don’t mean that,” Leon said, shaking his head. “You’ve lost so much, I know you can’t lose anything else. You’re at your breaking point, Chris, if you keep going like this you’ll only get yourself killed. And then who will you save?”

Sasha stared at him, something new dawning in his eyes. “You think you know what we’ve been through,” he said, anger swimming past the pain. Leon wasn’t sure if he was relieved Sasha was coming back to himself or if he was scared of the fallout. “Maybe you’ve been in a war against monsters, but I’ve been in a fight against my own people for years. You don’t know what it’s like to burn your own home to the ground to weed out the enemy within. You don’t know what it’s like to sacrifice everything and know that it will never be the same!”

“That doesn’t mean you can use these kinds of weapons against anyone,” Leon argued, setting his jaw, refusing to back down on this. “You’re only burning the world you want to rebuild. You can’t bring a better future if everyone’s infected!”

“Don’t tell me of a better future like you know anything about it,” Sasha snarled. “All of you Americans sitting in your safe homes with guns in every hand to protect you and your loved ones. Whenever an enemy has a new shiny bomb, you have to manufacture the same weapon yourself because you know you won’t stand a chance if you don’t have that weapon in your hands! These bastards are killing us! We never had anything to infect the people with, only what controlled those thigns! Everything was contained! Everything was safe! The only people that could have done this to my home is that bitch in her castle!”

Sasha suddenly stood, sending Leon reeling back as the man towered over him and got a fist in Leon’s jacket. The sudden strength was either fury or adrenaline, both of which had Leon cowering instinctively as he was pushed up against the same wall Sasha had collapsed against. 

“You bastards know nothing of what we’ve suffered!” Sasha screamed into Leon’s face. “We’re all just a bunch of nameless drones to you thieves! We’re nothing more than cannon fodder! I’ll be damned before I let your words sway me from doing what is right. I will be damned before I fail those who have died before me. And I will be _damned_ before I fail to take every drop of blood those monsters have spilled to drown them in!” Sasha shook him and Leon was the most fucked up person in the world, because all he could focus on was how warm Sasha was and how much Leon needed to mend the wounds in the other man who looked so much like Chris that it made Leon crazy. Sasha got close, his hot breath ghosting Leon’s face as he swore, “I will be damned before I let JD’s death be just another statistic to read in another one of your history books.”

Leon surged forward and kissed Sasha before he could think, the fear mingling with arousal and pain and adrenaline, all crashing together like a poison in his memories. Leon gasped into Sasha’s mouth as the man didn’t even fumble, surging into the kiss that wasn’t supposed to happen. Pressed between the wall and Sasha’s hard body, Leon shuddered, fighting to get his head back. It was futile when Sasha began to pull at Leon’s belt, straight to business only like a warrior could be. Leon was suddenly back in that grimy weapons locker, taunting a man much bigger and stronger than him, thinking that if he snapped first, the other wouldn’t snap back. How wrong Leon had been then. How right Leon was going to be this time.

“Stop,” Leon gasped, pushing that hand away and grabbing Sasha by the biceps. The man scowled at him, expression as unstable as his hands, and Leon took the upper hand, flipping him and Sasha so the other man was against the wall instead of Leon. Then Leon sunk gracefully to his knees, knowing how to handle men that couldn’t stop shaking. “Just shut up and let me do this,” he hissed as he undid Sasha’s belt and pulled his cock out. God knew when the last time either of them had showered, but war wasn’t really the place for clean and pretty sex. “I’ll make it quick.”

“I’m not that easy—”

Leon took immense satisfaction in shutting Sasha up by taking that cock down his throat. Nothing better than making someone eat their own words. 

Sasha tasted like sweat and adrenaline, heavy on Leon’s tongue and an explicit reminder that Leon hadn’t sucked a cock since Chris. He pushed that thought aside, denying the pain in his chest and the awful voice that whispered accusations of betrayal in turn for thinking of Sasha and the pain the man was experiencing and this one simple thing Leon hoped would help. 

A man at war often had instances of arousal every time he survived when he knew he shouldn’t have. Sasha hardened quickly in Leon’s mouth, the man above gasping softly, his expression scrunched up like he was trying to deny that this was working. Leon let his eyes fall shut and just focused on what he was doing. Tightened his lips, sucked gently, listened to the sounds of muted pleasure and ignored the fact that this probably wasn’t the place or time. Leon pulled off and dragged his tongue up the line of the shaft, enveloping the head and flicking across the slit. Sasha hissed and a rough hand went into Leon’s hair, yanking. 

“Tease like an American porn star,” Sasha growled, pulling Leon forward. Leon took that as a compliment and flattened his tongue along the underside as he took Sasha down his throat again, breathing sharply through his nose as he relaxed his throat and bobbed his head. The man was already losing control of his own breath, quick hitches that told Leon Sasha was already close. Leon pressed forward, taking the man all the way down, and tilted his head back, creating the perfect hole for Sasha to fuck. 

“You’re too good at this,” came the gruff whisper before Sasha held Leon’s head in both calloused palms, holding him still as that cock was driven down Leon’s throat. Over and over, a violent pace that Leon could only weather through, his jaw trembling with the effort and his hands fisted in his lap. Small gasps left Sasha, almost adorable and high pitched the closer he got. Leon’s brow knit with discomfort and he ignored the voice that was now screaming curses at him for doing this, for turning his back on Chris and making the same mistake again. Krauser had been a disaster and Sasha was probably a war criminal. Leon was only making things worse for himself. He was only letting Chris down.

_“Irina.”_

Sasha’s broken whisper from above was sobering. Despite the destructive and filthy act they were committing together, Leon mourned who Sasha had once been. There was nothing as tragic as a man calling out the name of his dead fiancée as he fucked the mouth of a worthless agent that couldn’t save anyone. He wondered if Irina would be disappointed in him for touching her fiancé. He wondered if _Chris_ would be disappointed in him.

Leon shoved that thought down too as Sasha’s thrusts became erratic, the other man’s hands trembling in Leon’s skin. “Irina,” Sasha gasped again, a low whine leave with her name. Leon clutched Sasha’s thighs, holding on for his own sake as Sasha reached the edge. “ _P-pochemu ty ostavil menya_ , Irina, _Irina_ —”

Sasha came down Leon’s throat, Leon knowing this was the most sanitary way to dispose of bodily fluids on the battlefield. He breathed carefully through it as Sasha held Leon’s head flush to his body, the orgasm leaving Sasha gasping. Then Sasha was pushing Leon away abruptly, running a hand down his face like he was stunned by what he’d done. Leon sat back on his haunches and wiped his mouth with the base of his gloved wrist, feeling almost ashamed of himself but knowing he wouldn’t take it back if he could. He reached out and tucked Sasha’s cock back into his pants, doing up his belt again, stupid little gestures in a hopeless attempt to convey that he cared and he wanted to help and he wanted Sasha to know Leon was trying to do what was best by Sasha’s people, not some faceless government.

“… You’re not alone,” Leon said, feeling awkward and stupid with his voice hoarse from the rough treatment. He even felt a little like a cheap whore, but that was an issue for drunk Leon to handle later once he was stateside. He thought of his flask in the vest JD had returned to him. Sadly, with how much JD had drank, Leon knew there wasn’t enough alcohol in there to help Leon compartmentalize this and forget. “I’ve stopped this before— I can stop it again. I can _help_ you.”

Sasha watched him, confusion swimming in his eyes that still reminded Leon damningly of Chris. “Why— did you do that?”

Leon didn’t actually know. And before he could even try to answer, bombs started to fall. Literally, Artillery fire shook the ground beneath their feet, the walls themselves shifting and dropping dirt and dust. Leon looked up at the domed ceiling and realized there couldn’t have been worse timing if he had sold his soul to the devil himself. Whatever defense Leon could have possibly broken down by doing— fuck, he suddenly couldn’t even bring himself to acknowledge it, his chest hurt too much and Sasha calling out Irina’s name was a memory he would never lose. _What had Leon done?_ Aside from waste his fucking time, that is. As Leon looked back up at Sasha, he saw the cold determination wash over the man once more. Leon couldn’t save him.

Hands that had been threaded in Leon’s hair suddenly lifted him to his feet, Leon quickly shoving down his insecurities and lacking self esteem to become a soldier once again, just like Sasha. _Buddy._

Buddy looked to Leon with a grim expression, eyes hard and unwelcoming. They wore the same mask now. They would never reach an understanding. “As far as I am concerned,” Buddy said in a low voice filled with regret. “What they’re doing— this is no different between this and using BOWs.” Buddy stood and faced him. “If you want this to keep this from happening again, put down your gun.

Leon had been expecting that. It still felt like a nail in the coffin. It felt like another death Leon couldn’t avoid. Another loss to haunt him.

“Well then,” Buddy growled. “That is my answer… And your answer.”

The ground shuddered and Leon almost lost his footing, the walls of the church wavering and buckling like broken knees. A deafening crack sounded above before Leon was suddenly shoved away by now-familiar hands. He staggered and hit the pulpit just as a huge chunk of the ceiling crashed into he ground where he’d once been.

“There’s a bunker beneath this church, just behind you at the alter!” Buddy shouted across the rubble to him as more of the church collapsed around them. “You’ll be safe there.” Then Buddy picked up his gun and turned and left, leaving Leon in the disintegrating church. Leon should take cover or escape, he should get out of the way of the debris and the missiles, but he couldn’t for just a split second. Leon watched Sasha disappear as the church broke away around him. Leon wondered why he stilled planned on finishing this fight when there was no one left to save.

. . .

Leon had thought he was a goner. 

A very common occurrence for him, but definitely happening far too often for how long he’d been on this godforsaken earth. He was intimately familiar with the idea of being halfway-to-dead, and even more familiar with coming to quick and violent terms concerning death in the next five seconds. And when he’d been facing down that Tyrant, only a knife left to his name, his only thought had been comfort, knowing he would die with Chris’s knife in his hand, just as he would have done with Rot, just as he would have done at Chris’s side.

He wondered if Sasha was familiar with the same thing. Maybe not as commonly, but fighting a civil war for so long had to have taken its toll. He wondered if Sasha had something of Irina’s to die with in his hand. Men like Leon and Sasha were alike— when accustom to violence and blood, having something to make them human was more important than bullets. The only thing that made them different from their enemies— the monsters— were the small things that kept their hearts alive.

He hoped Sasha had something like that, something to cling to for peace, because Leon was going to try to save him from the Plaga, but Leon just wasn’t confident.

From above, the seizure of the Eastern Slav Republic looked just like another way; Russians on the ground and Americans in the sky. The sun was setting, but it was just another approaching night. Leon couldn’t see much beauty in it and only felt anxiety. What if his hands shook? What if he was too late? What if he paralyzed _everything_ in Sasha and condemned him to another breed of death? What if he failed? What if Leon couldn’t save him?

“So…” 

Leon didn’t turn from the city, but he tilted his head, listening to what could possibly be Sasha’s last words. 

“The Americans and Russians had us in the palms of their hands from the beginning.” 

Leon wasn’t sure about that, but he was sure that it had to be a kick in the pants to be saved by the people they’d only received true independence from just over twenty years ago. Leon sighed and told the man what he could. “That’s what it looks like.”

“Did you know about this?”

As if. When did these people tell Leon anything?

He pushed himself off the stone wall he’d been leaning against to watch the chaos and pulled his flask from his vest. “No.” He unscrewed the flask. “If I did, I’d still be enjoying my vacation.” Leon took a long swallow from what was left of his whiskey, remembering JD as he let the alcohol burn his throat. Behind him, Sasha began to cough again, violent wracks of his chest that made Leon’s skin feel clammy. Sasha was running out of him. Leon couldn’t keep putting this off.

He closed the flask— “Hey.” —then turned to offer it to Sasha. Sasha stared at the object, almost confused, so Leon tossed it into his lap. The other man lifted it, staring at the metal against the callouses in his hands. Then he looked up at Leon. 

They met eyes. Looked into each other for a long time. Something had happened between them during the fight for their loves, something had changed the way Sasha was looking at him. Was it how recklessly Leon had thrown himself at the Tyrants over and over and over, careless to injuries? Or was it how Leon had stayed at Sasha’s side even when there’d been no hope left and only one of them could run? Leon was sure loyalty was hard to come by these days, especially having been betrayed by all the elders except one. Leon hoped he wouldn’t end up letting Sasha down and letting him die by the end of this.

Leon had to turn away. He couldn’t let the storm in his mind show on his face— not when he was the only thing that could possibly save Sasha’s life. And wouldn’t that be something? Only two in the world had ever survived infection of Las Plagas— if Leon didn’t fuck it up, there would be three.

_Don’t fuck it up, Leon._

There was a sigh behind him and then, “I’ve lost everything.”

Leon shut his eyes, knowing what was coming next. A man with nothing left to live for was a scary thing.

Sasha went on.

“My mentor. My friends.” A pause, and then a choked noise of pain. Leon’s own body tensed in sympathy, knowing well what the Plaga felt like squirming beneath the skin. _”I have nothing left to fight for._ ”

Took the words right out of Leon’s mouth.

“Kill me— _please_.”

Leon’s eye flew open at the request that slipped so easily from Sasha’s mouth.

“I don’t want to change into one of those monsters!”

Leon couldn’t answer, couldn’t turn around. He felt sick just hearing the desperation in the man’s throat. Sasha wasn’t afraid of death but of what came after. With the parasite writhing beneath the surface being of the dominant species, who knew how much autonomy and awareness Sasha would maintain after the eggs finally burst inside of him. Leon remembered being aware of what he’d been doing when going for the throats of the people he’d cared about— he remembered the look of fear on Chris’s face as Leon had tried to kill him with wild, red eyes. 

Leon was brought from his thoughts again by a clatter and a rustle behind. There was tin on concrete, the pull of leather, and then the minute sound of intricate parts moving together, metal and deadly intent.

“I guess there is no other choice.”

Leon had thought about shooting himself once or twice. Not from a desire to die or to escape, but to protect those around him. Leon knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if he ever got bitten and infected, he’d eat a bullet the very next second. The only reason he hadn’t taken himself out back in Spain was the need to reach Ashley and finish his mission. Leon knew exactly what was going through Sasha’s mind. The bleak hopelessness and the fear of who could be hurt if he didn’t put that muzzle to his head and finish it. The regrets and the wishes for another chance, the human brain insisting it didn’t want to die out of self-preservation. For everything that had happened, Leon commended Sasha for being brave enough to do what was right and ensure the world didn’t suffer further infection.

Still— what a fucking idiot.

Leon stomped over, snatching the gun from the man’s hand, glaring down at him with anger and determination. Sasha was shaking. 

“I’d feel the same way if I was you,” Leon said, staring him down, wanting Sasha to see his resolve and know there was still hope. “But the option of taking our own lives no longer belongs to us.” He looked down at the gun in his hand and imagined Sasha’s blood covering the delicate parts, imagined cleaning brains and flesh from the pieces. A morbid thought that had Leon clenching his jaw before continuing. 

“Once we start using these,” he said. “We owe it to the people who died alongside us— we have to continue living!” Sasha was going to see it through to the end for JD, for Irina, for his people, because he’d picked up the gun and picked up the dreams of those who had fallen. Sasha was going to rebuild and live out the rest of his days peacefully, as he’d fought for for so long, and as everyone had died for. Sasha was not going to become one more casualty of this hell— Sasha was going to _thrive._

But the words failed Leon so he let his arm drop, and then turned the gun in his hand, resting his finger on the outside of the trigger. Sasha stared up at him with eyes full of fear, but he didn’t cower and he didn’t beg. Leon met his courage with a bravery of his own and swore to himself he wouldn’t fuck this up.

“That is my answer… ” he murmured, lifting the gun and aiming it at Sasha’s stomach, knowing backup was on its way to his location thanks to Hannigan, running through all the necessary first aid. “… And that is your answer.”

The gunshot was deafening. 

Leon prayed he didn’t fucked it up.

. . .

Leon was dead on his feet, but this wasn’t the kind invitation he could just deny. Security let him through with so much as a blink, knowing his haggard face well enough by now. He’d been here often enough as Leon had been furloughed from USSTRATCOM and DSO slowly developed. Leon was pretty sure it would be voted on next month. A grand achievement— sarcasm woefully intended. It was all the same to Leon, at the end of the day. He’d still be fighting monsters, still couldn’t see Sherry under the the ruling of the President’s advisor, Derek C. Simmon’s, and he still was a ghost agent, but…

Adam was trying. He was working on the United State’s global front against BOWs, he was working to make this something Leon could stand for and be proud of, and he was working for cooperation with the other nations. Adam was actually trying to change things for the better and Leon wanted to stand for that more than anything. And maybe— if Adam could get a foot into BSAA relations, maybe Leon—

Leon shut that wayward thought down quickly. He had to be realistic here. Just because he was getting into some shiny new organization didn’t mean the world would send him a magic pumpkin of a chariot and whisk him away. He still didn’t have Sherry and he didn’t have a choice. The papers Leon had signed years ago were holding fast no matter Adam’s efforts and even he couldn’t figure out why.

And Adam was the fucking President for chris’s sake.

“Leon.”

The warm, familiar voice from the other end of the Oval Office had Leon relaxing despite his training. President Adam Benford strode towards him, throwing out a friendly arm and taking care to let Leon watch where it landed— on Leon’s shoulder, gripping gently, steering him to one of the couches. There was whiskey already poured into crystal glasses on the mahogany table. Leon shook his head, but smiled tiredly despite himself. “Hannigan tell you I was drinking during daylight or is this some kind of bribe?”

“More like the ribbon on top of a present,” Adam said with a wide smile of his own. “I’ve got good news for you, my friend— a lot of good news.”

Leon raised his brow as he went to sit on one of the couches. He’d known Adam long enough to believe him when he said the news really was good. A military man knew better than to oversell. Adam sat across from him, plenty of space as always, vital after any assignment. “But first, “Adam said as he leaned back, lowering his guard for Leon to observe. It was like he’d trained himself on how to function around Leon. Leon had even spotted a couple psychology-oriented books tucked away around the office, little things on dealing with trauma and PTSD correlated with child abuse. It meant a lot to Leon. Adam was the only person aside from Chris who knew about Leon’s parents and it— meant so much to know Adam cared to this degree. Leon felt safe. He felt like himself. He— he felt like he had a family.

“— hope you didn’t think I planned for you to be down there.”

Shit, Adam was talking.

“Uh,” Leon said smartly, eyes flitting about the room for clues as to what they were discussing even though he knew he would have no luck. “… Que sera, sera?”

Adam sighed dramatically and shook his head. “You went to medical, right?”

“Course.” For less than an hour. There was only so much a doctor could do for busted ribs. “I’m fine, Adam. Sorry, I spaced out. What were you saying?”

Adam shook his head again. “I’m sorry about the mission,” he _probably_ repeated. “I’m sure Hannigan informed you earlier, but I had no idea of what was happening in the Eastern Slav republic with the Russians. Simmons was informing me of the orders to move in was the first I’d heard about it.”

Leon frowned. “Didn’t you give the order for all US citizens to evacuate?”

Adam hesitated. Leon sighed. “Simmons can’t keep doing this shit— you’re the one in the seat, not him.”

“Simmons has never been wrong,” Adam reminded him gently. “Even this situation was handled correctly. The only way it could have been better is if you had actually followed orders.”

Leon looked away, scowling. “There were BOWs on the ground. You know I couldn’t leave.”

“I know,” Adam placated calmly. “And you didn’t know what was going to happen. You thought you were being ordered to abandon the situation. Simmons should have been clear with both of us but he wasn’t. It’s not your fault.”

Leon relaxed minutely. “It’s fine,” he said even though it wasn’t. Simmons was playing a dangerous game and Leon didn’t know his angle. He’d never liked the guy and he never would. “I— I did my best. Handled the shit as best I could.” Everyone had died, save one for now. “It’s over with, isn’t it? I’m done with the Plaga.”

“That brings me to one of my good news,” Adam hummed. “The surgery was a success— Alexander Kozachenko will full recovery, save losing the use of his legs. As a paraplegic, he will be given the best PT we can offer in his region and be returned safely to his country of citizenship with a clean record.”

Leon’s eyes snapped to Adam in disbelief. It had barely been twenty-four hours, but— “He’s okay?”

Adam nodded, his smile becoming almost fond. “You did good, Leon. Maybe it was a lucky shot, but it saved his life nonetheless. The Plaga has been pulled completely from his body. He’s going to be fine.”

Leon bent forward, elbows resting on his knees so his hands could cover his face as relief swam through him like medicine. “That,” he gusted, grinning shakily to himself. “Is _very_ good news.”

“Would you like to hear the rest?”

Leon wasn’t sure it could get better than that. “Go for it.”

“Piers Nivans completed his first assignment on Redfield’s team and came out completely unscathed.”

Leon could fucking cry with the sudden release of endorphins through his body, cutting past the lingering adrenaline that was making it impossible to sleep. “Gonna give me a heart attack with all this good, Adam,” he choked out, still grinning.

Adam made a thoughtful noise. “Should I save the last of it then? I assure you, it’s not the best news of the bunch, but good enough.”

“Just spill it, Adam.”

“You’re being taken off furlough next week,” Adam said. “DSO is officially a working organization of the US Government, directly under me.” Leon looked up again, eyes wide with shock as Adam smiled at him. “You are now officially founding Agent Leon S. Kennedy of the Divisional Security Operations. You are unofficially the sword of the President.”

Leon bit his lip, wondering just how bad the ensuing week would be for all of the good Leon was experiencing right now. He shook his head, stunned. “… Congratulations,” he finally was able to say. “You worked hard, Adam. You did good.”

Adam shrugged. “Couldn’t have done it without you. Your flawless success record is the only thing that kept the papers going through the House and the Senate. No one would have given it a second glance if it weren’t for you. And with the loss of direction for the Anti-Umbrella Pursuit and Investigation Team, it really was second nature to repurpose and redecorate. I’m just being responsible with resources, that’s all.” Adam stood and offered Leon his hand. “Congratulations, DSO Agent Kennedy. I look forward to working with you.”

Leon kept a stupid grin on his face as he took that hand and shook. “I’ll drink to that,” he said, raising his glass and tipping it back, feeling like he was finally coming out on top for the first time in a long time. There was still a lot for him to unpack— Sasha had survived, but now Leon had to face the fact that he’d blown him in the middle of a battlefield while in love with another man. There was the whole issue with Ada actually snagging something of worth from that underground facility, Leon only able to assume it was more of the Plaga. And then there was also the fact that now Leon had a whole new organization to learn, a whole new set of rules and responsibilities and possibly new dangers, and was Hannigan gonna accept the transfer? What would Leon do without her? Oh shit, was he going to have to actually put effort into keeping up with her? Leon had so many more problems staring him down for the next few days or weeks or months, all of it without Chris, and normally that would scare him, but—

Leon felt good about himself for once, sitting here with Adam and thinking maybe there was a sliver of hope to the future. And Leon was going to savor that, just for the time being. For once, Leon felt like he deserved this moment of peace.

He grinned up at Adam as the man refilled Leon’s glass and knew he had Adam to thank for everything good that was coming Leon’s way.


End file.
